Lady Caitlin's Journal
by Personality Test
Summary: For the first (and hopefully last) time of her life, Lady Caitlin had a job and she has decided to write a journal recording her work experience. Dahlia is overexcited, Darach is making another scrapbook and Thorton is installing security cameras. AU.


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_December 18__th_

_This entry marks the first day of my job at Café Sonata._

_My name is Caitlin, and I am to be addressed as Lady Caitlin from now on, as that is my rightful title despite the disbelieving looks I have received. They say there is no such thing as a Lady in the 21__st__ century, much less New York. How uncouth._

_Last week, for the first time since years, I lost a bet to my…barely tolerable acquaintance, Dahlia. In return, I had to do whatever she chose; and another much less tolerable acquaintance of mine, Thorton, suggested that I work in this place for a week through the busy Christmas season because he thought it would be funny. He went to contact the shop's owner, Alder, immediately – which left me no room for any protest. It is not that I would protest, of course - I honor my bargains.  
_

_Needless to say, Dahlia agreed, and Darach – my absolutely useless valet – could do nothing about it. He did, however, implore me to record my experiences, which is the only reason I am writing a journal. A talented girl I once met lent me hers, a pink book with flowers on it, and as a result I know how to write a journal accurately. _

_In an observational notebook belonging to one as sophisticated as I, conjecture is unacceptable. I will record every event of the day, with the assistance of the security network Thorton installed here upon my polite request.  
_

"Lady Caitlin?" Darach frowned at the last sentence.

"Yes?"

"What you are doing, is it not called an invasion of privacy?"

"Yes, I imagine so."

"…"

"…"

"…Today's dessert will be apricot and chocolate mille-feuille, Milady."

"Excellent."

_First shift, 6.00 to 8.00._

_The manager, Shauntal, said that no one was working the morning shift because they all had other jobs, and the responsibility fell to me as I have no need for employment. Couldn't someone just quit their job and work here so that I wouldn't have to?  
_

_I told Dahlia exactly that, and she looked at me with a look Thorton usually reserved for spoiled little girls who kept spouting obnoxious rich-philosophy nonsense. Which, in this case, I take offense to. What I said was perfectly reasonable and we both knew it. Darach would agree if he was here. _

_5.45. Darach escorted me here and went home, not forgetting to wish me good luck in my job. I contemplated just walking home for a moment before a purple-haired woman opened the door and dragged me in._

_5.57. The woman introduced herself as Shauntal, and she gave me an apron just after showing me how to work the register. The apron was quite itchy and rough compared to what I am used to._

_6.00. The first customers walked in, a red-haired man who was yawning half the time, and a blonde man with a navy jacket who looked like he just got out of bed. Shauntal seemed to have been taken with the blonde immediately, and had sauntered over to their table._

_6.10. The two had left, and although Shauntal looked a little downcast, she said she was having new ideas for her imaginary novel. I would feel better if it never was published, considering it was about that rude, apathetic person._

_6.15. A young woman with two strangely-pointed braids that seemed to defy gravity slammed the door open, looked around for (supposedly) one of the two men who had left, and ran out of the café. How annoying. _

_6.23. I still could not understand how the register worked. Burgh was off making drinks, Shauntal was helping out in the kitchen because a customer ordered a Pecan Tart and it took a long time to make a serving. I was _gently tapping_ buttons left and right in the hopes of finding the correct one, and the old men in the queue were starting to look a little impatient. Did they not know enough to politely wait for a lady?_

_6.29. Shauntal has finished with her order and took care of the register. The old man was glaring a little resentfully, but I just waved it off. A lady never cares about such petty quarrels._

_6.35. A woman with long, blond hair came in, ordered an Espresso Macchiato to go and left. Another businessman sitting in a corner glanced after her until the door closed and she disappeared. Mild curiosity, perhaps, since her hair was much longer than I thought possible. I wish I could grow my hair out that long one day.  
_

_6.45. The man left as well. His briefcase had the logo of Devon Corps, which was strange. Devon's working hours started from eight to six. This person must have been a diligent worker. I do not understand such a concept. Why do people get up at six just for a work day that started at eight? If it were me, I would wake up at eight thirty; that was the natural thing, was it not?  
_

_7.14. Customers were coming one after another. A kid in uniform was dozing off in a corner while the cream in his Peppermint Mocha Frappuccino was melting. What a waste of $3.75. Besides that, I think I needed a picture of my working here for Darach's scrapbook. He always had a scrapbook for the strangest and most trivial things.  
_

_7.18. The kid woke up and ran out of the café muttering furiously about how he was late for class and he had a Mr. Blaine for homeroom. He left his coffee untouched.  
_

_7.21. Three high school students were walking in the café. Two of them were arguing interminably, and the other blonde just looked bored, like he had gotten so used to it. He even mimicked some parts of their conversation word for word; I wonder how many times this has happened._

_The couple was still bickering. I need to tell Darach to buy a pair of soundproof headphones if this goes on._

_7.28. This work is exhausting. __A lady with purple hair ordered a Tall Skinny Vanilla Latte. She wore sunglasses in the shop, for the purpose of blinding people if nothing else. If she did not want to gain weight, a Skinny latte wouldn't succeed – she was in her forties already, there was simply no point._

_7.32. I told the woman exactly that, and she stormed out before I even finished talking, not even bothering to take the change. How rude. Shauntal was looking disapprovingly at me, but I didn't much care about that and instead continued tugging my apron out of the register. It was really annoying, and I can't wait to get out of this apron – and this coffeehouse, too. Anything will be fine. I don't want to ever work again.  
_

_7.34. Two people who seemed to be regulars walked in and were chatting amiably with Shauntal and the barista, Burgh. _

_The black man, Marshal, was raucous and loud; he ordered a double espresso. _

_The other man called Grimsley ordered nothing and winked at every girl who even glanced in his direction. He also offered to play card games with some other customers, which seemed to be the norm. His cheating moves were obvious, and the people who actually got fooled deserved to have their money swindled. _

_7.41. Marshal went by to say hi. Aside from the noise, he sounded nice enough, I suppose. I couldn't talk to him much, because more customers were coming and they all want coffee for another exhausting work day. Normally I would scoff at them derisively, but right now I cannot act in that manner anymore, as I myself am also working. Only now I understand how absolutely horrible it is to be working a real job, no matter how temporary it is._

_7.46. Marshal kept tapping on Grimsley's shoulders to introduce us, but he was too busy flirting with a blond slu…stupid girl to care. Arceus, I hope he never gets to talk to me. He was a womanizer, just like the blond guy Dahlia fawns over in that comedy series. How long has that show gone on, seriously?_

_7.50. The stream of customers was dwindling, and there was no one left to complain about how I kept my face buried in a pink, flowery notebook. What right do they have to complain anyway?  
_

_A quiet, green-haired girl ordered a simple Café Latte. Another person was waiting for her outside the shop, but I couldn't see his face clearly because of his fedora. She could afford to braid her hair – it would make her look prettier. _

_7.58. The last customer of my shift is a blonde girl who dressed a little bit unkempt. She must be an assistant teacher, the way she spoke and the bulging bag full of files she held in her hand. She wanted a black coffee, Café Mocha, Iced Skinny Mocha and an espresso. She seemed sweet. _

_As she left, Jasmine arrived and was getting ready for her shift. I would like to take a nap after I have written this entry.  
_

"Hey, Caity, how's your work day?" Palmer asked just as Darach escorted her home. "Anything nice?"

"No, there isn't." She deadpanned. "And I need to sleep, so goodnight."

The blond man held up his hand in surrender. "It's eight thirty AM, Caitlin. People normally don't sleep at 8."

"_I_ sleep at 8." She glanced owlishly at him.

"And don't I know it. Off you go, Cait." He waved his hand dismissively and she narrowed her eyes.

"That sounds like an insult." Palmer had some nerves trying to talk bad of her. He and the others were the ones paying the rent, and if she was just annoyed with them she could easily order Darach to throw them out. Dahlia and Palmer would whine and pout, with the former trying to smuggle some of her accessories and clothes, and Thorton…Thorton would just look apathetically back and proceed to break into her room to find leverage.

Caitlin mentally dissuaded the idea. No petty quarrel was worth Thorton finding out her secrets, and as a proper lady, she had a lot – some of which Darach would faint upon knowing.

"Just go back to your beauty sleep, Caitlin." He ushered her towards the stairs, ignoring Darach's flabbergasted look – honestly, sometimes he could be a little imbecilic.

"So…" Dahlia sashayed in her room just as she was about to take a nap. Caitlin didn't even understand what was wrong with these people. "How was working for the first time in your life felt like, Caity?"

Annoying woman. "A comedy. A kid practically brought a drink for nothing."

"Really? Do tell. No, wait…what have you got squirreled away there, Caity?"

"Nothing."

"Bollocks. Is this a work journal? Lemme see, lemme see!... Oh." Dahlia's smile immediately melted off her face upon opening the notebook.

"What?"

"This is like a boring list of activities, Caitlin! Just look at this! Where's the excitement, the sparks of romance, the _drama_?" She pouted.

"What am I writing, a sob story?" She scoffed. "It is a work journal."

"No, it isn't! Writing is like dancing, Caity, only with fewer movements and more thinking."

"That thing you call dance is like a Spinda high on scotch and, as a result, nothing like writing."

"You'll turn into an old lady soon if you keep thinking non-optimistic thoughts like that, you know. Now, see here, Caity, this is how we _normal people_ –" She stifled a derisive snort at the older woman's words. "– write a proper journal…"

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**A/N: Eh, this is just for fun. I may or may not continue this since I'm way too stuck in the Kagerou Project fandom and there's this story I'm aiming to...uh, simplify? Edit out? Dumb down? Anyway, that sort. **

**I've had this thing stored in my computer for probably a year now, and I'm bored. At this rate I'll probably end up never updating...oh well.**


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